How Hard Could It Be?
by children of the outcast
Summary: Loki unlocked the door to the front of the house at a rather late hour at night, he'd rather not do tedious jobs such as this, however the thrown of Asgard was up for the taking and he was making precautions to make sure he was the one to take it, besides how much trouble could it be to control a girl, from Midgard never the less. ft. bullying, self-harm and swearing?


**guess tis a first fanfic for marvel, sorry if anything is spelled wrong, or if its horrible. feed back would be nice. so... yeah**

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Loki unlocked the door to the front of the horrible little house at a rather late hour at night, he'd rather not do tedious jobs such as this, however the thrown of Asgard was up for the taking and he was making precautions to make sure he was the one to take it, besides how much trouble could it be to control a girl, from Midgard never the less. As if escaping from Asgard wasn't enough he had, had to take a plane with mortals, the arrogant self-serving fools that should be kneeling before him, to Australia of all places. He heard some music playing from a radio which buzzed now and again.

_I hear hurricanes ablowing.  
I know the end is coming soon.  
I fear rivers over flowing.  
I hear the voice of rage and ruin. _

He decided he liked this song.

The girl he was looking for just happened to be one of the few people in the world who could pick Mjolnir. She was an archaeologist around 20 years, who had "discovered" the hammer after he had dropped Thor's arse on Midgard. He cursed as he hit his foot on the side of the chair and then unexpectedly took a punch to the face just as he saw another fist appear in the darkness he grabbed the hand and accidentally froze it. not completely however because just as a glowing blue spread across pale skin he felt his hand burning as the skin which he just froze turned a magnificent gold lighting up two coffee coloured eyes for a brief second and pulled it back abruptly. As soon as his he let go he felt his legs being kicked out from underneath him and another punch to the temple. He saw a foot about to swing near his head and grabbed it and pulled. He heard a small shriek as two thuds were heard on the ground next to him. He sighed and prayed this was not the girl.

~oO0Oo~

Doing his best to not trip over in the darkness he made his way to the nearest wall keeping his injured hand to his side and searching along the wall with his left hand and finally finding a light switch. When the lights finally turned on after a bit of flickering he got a chance to notice how beautiful the room was. The walls were painted like the sunset over the see a beautiful mixture of shades and colours such as blue, yellow, purple and pink. A complete wall comprised of books, a worn brown antique armchair sat in the corner next to a small lamp on an old, faded, slightly large, brown bedside table with an empty glass and bottle on it. An intricately carved fading desk stood proudly next to Loki however shards of glass coming from an antique mirror hanging just above it littered the magnificent piece of artwork and surrounding area. A few with blood on them and sitting among them a letter opener with fresh blood on it. Loki looked around eagerly only to find the blood lead to the girl, who had hit her head on the desk. Blood streaked her red hair and dripped down the side of her pail face. Something told him, had she had her wits about her, she might have been able to defeat him. He dragged the girl to the chair assessing her injuries and scowling and thinking of how much easier these would be to heal on Asgard. Slightly panicking he turned on the lights of the house that seemed much bigger and comforting on the inside. He found a cupboard that contained sheets and quickly brought them back to the girl, slashed them into ribbons. With one of the bandages he wiped the wound on her head doing the best he could to get the glass out and then wrapping it with a bandage. Blood still dripped on his shirt he looked confused and rolled her arm to the side to reveal ugly self-inflicted gashes. He wiped the blood away to reveal the horrid scars on her arms insulting almost every aspect about her. He pitied her, wrapping her arms in the torn bed sheets to help stop the bleeding and gently lifted her up.

He was not losing this girl, he needed her to get to the throne and he couldn't very well do that if she was dead.


End file.
